


Make a Heaven of Hell

by Humanities_Handbag



Series: Butterfly Wings and Boggy Kings: That's What Strange Magic is Made of [1]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:36:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3559814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humanities_Handbag/pseuds/Humanities_Handbag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because who said that romance had to come from potions or dumb luck. Sometimes, all you need is a sharpened beer glass, a stab wound, a Tiny Voice in your head and a geriatric drunk who brings them all together.</p><p>Ain't love strange?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make a Heaven of Hell

**Author's Note:**

> Otherwise known as:
> 
> Romance: In Which Small, Drunk, Geriatric Fairies are the Cause of it

_I'm going to throw you a party! Congratulations, Marianne! You are officially the Town Idiot. Tell me, how is it that you acquired this position?_

“Shut up.”

_Oooh, another great come back. High five._

“Shut up.”

_Truly, it’s like you’re trying to win awards. First, the Medal of Ill-Advised Intent. Wear it with pride. Second, the Badge of Driveling Insults. Would you like to see it?_

“No. Shut up.”

_Oh! But I fashioned it myself! It’s made of my own sweat and blood and tears. I shaped it just like one of my favorite fingers. I’ll give you a hint which one. It isn’t the thumb, the pinky, the pointer or the ring. Care for me to tell you where you can shove it?_

Marianne, Princess of the Fairy Kingdom, was having a fight with the Tiny Voice in her Head. And the Tiny Voice in her Head was a jackass. “You know what I could do,” Marianne crossed her arms, glaring at her reflection from in the mirror across the room. “I could get drunk. Like, really drunk. Then you’d shut up and I wouldn’t have to deal with you for two seconds.”

_Ooh! Smart idea! And when you do get drunk and leave me behind won’t you please go and say hello to dear Boggy for me. It’s been so long since I’ve gotten a chance to really think about him._

Marianne groaned.

_Yeah, that’s the noise I wanna hear…_

“Oh my god, shut up!” She threw her hands into the air and her left side, right now being a pain in more than one way, immediately told her to ‘sit down, you poor little idiot’. So she did. She plopped down onto her bed, winced, and buried her head into her hands. “Today,” she said to no one in particular, “has been the suckiest day of my life.”

_I can make it better if you want._

“How could you possibly make it better.”

_I could give you a nice picture of Bog._

“I swear, if you-”

_Covered in honey and on a platter._

“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”

Apparently the voice was feeling rather spiteful due to the days events and a picture of just that popped into her brain. Marianne shrieked and shot up then cried out in pain, grasping her side. “Stop it!”

 _Aw baby, let Bog make it better._ Honey covered Bog blew her a kiss and slowly winked. Tiny Voice in her Head swooned. _Don’t you just wanna lick it all off._

“Make it go away!” Honey Covered Bog sucked on his finger and grinned with sharp teeth. “Now!” Honey Covered Bog, quite miffed at being treated like he was not covered in honey and laid out for very private part adult type carnage pouted, crossed his arms and disappeared with an indignant poof. Marianne sighed again, relaxing her shoulders and once more gently placed herself onto her bed with a grimace. A giant rose in full bloom was nothing if not beautiful. But when it came to practicality it was lacking a few _dozen_ features. Like comfiness and warmth and-

_And a staff wielding King who happens to basically walk around naked. Exoskeletons, am I right?_

“Stay on topic.”

 _You’re such a stick in the mud._ Marianne rolled her eyes, lying back and glaring at her ceiling. The gold swirls smiled cheerfully down on her so she gave up with a huff and turned onto her good side to stare out the window. _Just know that I’m saving that for later. Honey Covered Bog will return. If not for my own personal pleasure._

“You won’t,” she muttered in return, picking at the edge of a petal. “Because if he does I’m going to end you. Somehow, I will.” Her side growled and her face contorted for a brief flash of pain. She pressed her mouth into her silken pillow, delighted briefly at the cool against her cheek, and taking a moment to stifle a moan in the fabric. “How did this happen to me…”

_Simple. You got stabbed._

“No,” she reasoned with the pillow. “I was _scratched_.”

_Oh yes. Of course. Scratched. Because being impaled with a sharp and pointy thing is basically the same thing._

Marianne gave up trying to lie down with a groan. Apparently her inner Tiny Voice was not going to give her any rest for the day, nor was it going to let the subject drop. She pushed herself up with a light grunt and trotted lightly across the floor. She must have had some kind of poultice around somewhere. There was a bottle in every room, and she, out of everyone in her family, had a habit of getting hurt the most. “Lightly impaled,” Marianne pointed out, prodding at the wound that now lay under her clothing. She kneeled on the floor, searching through the drawers of her dressing table. “It barely even bled.”

_No. It didn’t, did it. But from the feel of it you’ve got a nice little infection coming._

And for all of its faults (as well as all the moments Marianne had to convince herself she wasn’t insane for its existence) the Tiny Voice in her Head was right. The light scratch she had obtained was beginning to get a little too hot for a simple flesh wound and, she was sure, was most likely becoming the color of her sisters wings. She stood, facing the mirror, and hiked up her shirt. Yup. It was indeed beginning to look a pretty pink where, just a few hours ago, the skin had been the color of her skin. Now it looked a lot more angry. She poked at it and held back a yelp. And a lot more tender to boot. “Great. Just great.”

_You know, honey is a great homeopathic remedy for anything. Let me just call him back real quick and we can-_

“No.”

She heard the voice sigh. _What is it with you and dealing with your lady parts. You know that eventually its going to come down to that._

“Can we not talk about this right now. I was just badly scratched-”

 _Stabbed_.

“ _Lightly_ stabbed. And the last thing I need is to talk about Bog and I, you know…”

_Pushing together your special secret bits like horny bees._

“What is it with you and honey?”

_Oh sweetie, if only you knew._

She groaned. “Bog and I are not… quite _there_ yet. And should we really be worrying about that right now?”

_Probably not. But I’m curious. Is it because you’re scared of him or is it because you’re afraid of you’re own sexual inadequacies?_

The Princess decided to ignore the fact that the Tiny Voice had said the first mature thing all day and instead crossed her arms, careful of the very sore spot that was now pulsing to a very jaunty rendition of ‘Hooked on a Feeling’. “First off, I am not afraid of Bog. Secondly, you’re the voice in my head,” she pointed out sourly, “shouldn’t you know?”

 _Marianne’s afraid of her lady bits!_ The voice sang, triumphant. _She’s afraid she won’t make him squeal. She’s afraid she won’t make him moan. High ho the dairy-oh she’s afraid she won’t make him groan, hey!_

“You’re impossible.” But the blush crawling up her neck, now matching her side, was telling quite a different story. “That’s ridiculous! I’m not… I’m not afraid I won’t… _you know_ -”

_What? That you wont make him scream hallelujah like a drunk priest on Easter? Oh darling, I know. Believe me, I know. Fortunately for you, I have plenty of tricks. On a scale of Nun to Naked what would you be willing to do?_

“Clothed.”

 _You’re no fun._ There was a pause. _Also, if we’re talking about attraction, the first step is not having yellow goo falling out of your side. You might want to get that looked at._

“There isn’t any yellow goo falling out.” She poked it again, eyes still on the mirror. The thing beneath her fingers indented a moment with a very red dot before sinking back out into its cheerful pink. “It’s just a little… _titchy_.”

_Great word choice. A+. And how would you describe Roland? Isn’t that guy just a jerky, dumb dumb, stupid face. Or what about disease? That’s just the pits, isn’t it._

“Shut it,” she warned, baring her teeth into the mirror. “And I don’t need it looked at. I’m fine. I’ll wrap it up tonight and it’ll be better by tomorrow.”

_Really? And while you’re at that, what are you going to tell your sister? How do you think she’s going to take it._

“I’m not.”

_You’re getting closer to a promotion. How does Major Asshat sound._

“I don’t need to get Dawn into this! She’s got enough on her plate with Dad badgering her about Sunny.” That was true enough. Although it was plenty obvious which relationship the King of the Fairy Kingdom preferred it was also all too obvious that he was aware of which daughter was easiest to chastise with a result. And poor Dawn had been the subject of many a talk about her royal lineage, social propriety, continuing the family line and one too many of don’t you remember that nice fairy that you liked last Summer? What about him’s. Marianne had always been one to swoop in and save her sister before she broke down and considered running to a convent and joining the celibate and very boy free sisterhood for the rest of her days.

_As if you-_

“I can handle Dad. Dawn’s different. She doesn’t need this right now.”

And that was true enough. Whenever she did avert his attentions was when Marianne’s father turned his eye onto her and far crueler things than light suggestions of better choices in suitors were said. Fortunately his eldest was becoming all too used to it.

_I still think you’re being an idiot. You should tell someone. And who else but Dawn?_

“Not happening.”

_It doesn’t have to be a speech. Here, let me help you. ‘Dawn, hey, nice weather right? And that local sports team, right? Someone’s winning! Politics, crumpets, song lyrics, song lyrics, song lyrics. By the way, just in passing thought, I was stabbed the other day. Say! How about those clouds! Pretty puffy, am I right?_

“Lightly stabbed.” Marianne corrected, if only for the principal.

The Tiny Voice in her Head wasn’t done and ignored her. _But don’t worry because I’ve totally got this covered. You know me. Miss I Can Do Everything on My Own, except apparently when it comes to pulling my head out of my own ass._

“I can! And it’s not! I’m perfectly clear headed. I know what I’m going.”

_Right. And speaking of doing things on your own, how are you going to tell Bog that you were lightly stabbed. Please, do explain that one to me. Because from what I know of the guy he’s either going to coddle you or dig a grave for someone._

“First off, he’d most likely make that certain someone dig their own grave.” She turned in the mirror, staring at the thing from all angles. It shimmered softly in the light, skin already scarring.

_Fair point. Ball’s in your court._

“And I’m not going to tell him.”

_You’re joking._

“You’re the voice in my head. You’re technically me. You should have known I was going to say that.”

_Oh, I did. I just thought maybe saying it out loud would have helped knock some sense into you._

“Well, it didn’t..” She breathed experimentally, watching in morbid fascination as the newfound dip in her skin opened just the tiniest bit to reveal more tender flesh beneath. “Ooh… that looks… _not good_.”

_No. It doesn’t._

“But I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” She tugged her shirt down, eye twitching when the fabric slid over. “Besides, everything else worked out, right? And I’m glad that everyone is safe and no one got hurt. And the guy was caught, albeit without much of a sentence. But still. No biggie.”

_I told you not to get involved. I told you it was a bad idea._

“Yeah, well you also tell me a lot of things about Bog’s butt that I don’t need to know,” Marianne argued with a flushed mumble.

_What can I say. I have an eye for sculpture._

“Yeah, well, I got involved, end of story.”

_But you didn’t have to. You could have just let the royal guards do their jobs. I know you’re a warrior and a strong female and an independent woman and all but that doesn’t mean you have to rush into every dangerous situation to prove that point to people. Believe me. They’ll never think higher of you. But that’s their problem, not yours. And you know what else. Right now some of them are at a tavern drinking and claiming that they caught the culprit and your father is already organizing a banquet in their honor and you’re sitting here with a pretty bad light stab wound and no honey-covered Bog in your head._

And though she hated to admit it, the Tiny Voice in her Head had a point. Besides the honey covered Bog bit, Tiny Voice in her Head was right. And not just a little right. Totally, 100 percent right. Her side, agreeing with the voice, pulsed violently, as if nodding. She pressed her palm against it, feeling the heat beginning to radiate out through her thin tunic. “You might be right.” She took away her hand. “This is… this is bad.”

_Yes. It is._

“And I might have been a little bit irrational in what I did.”

_Yes. You were._

“But, that aside, no one has to know. Because, despite your obvious confidence in my abilities, I actually can take care of this. A little poultice and a bandage never did me wrong.”

_Might I remind you that you were stabbed-_

“ _Lightly_ stabbed.”

_-with a piece of dirty glass. It isn’t as if the villain did you a solid and washed his weapon in the freshest of stream before he jumped at you from behind. He got you with a broken and very used glass beer stein._

“Beer is alcohol,” Marianne finally got tired of looking into the mirror, spinning on her heel and marching with a two-step to her closet. She wrenched open the doors, falling to her knees to find rags she could use for a temporary bandage. They were piled at the bottom, hidden behind the few clothes that actually did hang by dainty daisy chains. It was where she’d used to put her medical supplies. She had less of a chance of her father dying early if he never knew how much his eldest and heir to the Kingdom regularly placed herself in danger. During her training days she was constantly patching up scrapes and scratches and had never been unprepared for the worst. “It’s _sterilizing_.”

_Uh huh. Sure. But I wouldn’t trust Mr. Perrywinkie’s beer with a seven foot pole and a chalice of holy water._

The Voice, once again, had a point Marianne realized grudgingly, digging through the pile of folded rags, trying to find the cleanest one and cursing herself on thinking she could get away with not cleaning them.

Mr. Perrywinkie was one of the towns only brewers and, as it had been put many a time, the most creative. Most fae and their neighbors in the elf villages drank wine made from sugared and fermented flowers and berries. Beer was the poor man’s drink, but was only really taken up by those who had lost a taste for sweets and demanded to be dazzled and, in the end, would always have their heads in chamber pots.

The stuff Perrywinkie specialized in was made from fungus that not even the best brewers would touch. It was once fabled that the man had gone into the Dark Forest to take what they had to offer. And though sales went up and the children got a good scare from the stories of seeing the dark shape of the King lurking in the shadows, it was mostly just that. Stories.

Besides, Mr. Perrywinkie was a fairy. And fairies, brave or not, rarely ventured into the Dark Forest alone. At least, not until their sisters were kidnapped. Or until that kidnapper ended up being your future label-not-yet-given.

He had gone up to the Dark Forest. The borders were easy pickings when the rain fell and the branches there soaked up enough water to flood a small town, and so there was enough wood rot to go around.

To put it simply, the beer tasted like that wood rot.

And Marianne, not-watching-what-she-was-doing, overconfident Marianne, had been stabbed with said rot. And that rot was currently festering inside of her.

“That doesn’t matter right now. Right now all I have to worry about is getting this thing better and avoiding everyone until it does.”

_Stellar plan. Tell me, how are you avoiding your meeting with Bog on Wednesday?_

She froze. Her head went into her hands. “We were going to spar.”

 _Is that what that is. Oh, tsk, tsk, I thought it was your weekly sit down and be quiet while we knit flaxen sweaters meeting. Silly me!_ The voice snorted. _Besides, it’s not like you’re confident enough in your hands on skills to pleasure the man up to the moon yet. And let me tell you, honey, once you get that down he’ll have a whole new meaning to that smooth-as-sin the moonlight is beautiful line he pulled on you._

“I really don’t need this right now.”

_Fine! But I’m just saying- when the time is right you’ll have him swearing by the moon at three in the afternoon._

“You aren’t helping at all!” She found a relatively clean cloth, dragging it out, measuring it with her eyes and nodding. It would do. Lifting up her shirt she began to tie it around her waist, the pressure added to the wound helping to sooth the pulses. “Look, I’ll just tell him I… can’t come.”

_And when he asks?_

“You know, we have rescheduled plans before. It’s not like he monitors every moment of my life.”

_Oh how true. But I’m curious. When Dawn begins to question him on why you’ve been spending so much time alone how will that go over. You know that girl invests more into your relationship then you._

“Right now I’m going to do this one day at a time. I still have two days until Wednesday. That’s enough time to think about what I’m doing.”

_True. But you haven’t seen him in **three weeks**._

“So what…” Marianne glared into her closet but her voice betrayed just how she felt. Caution, unsure. “I mean, I’m not _happy_ about that. I miss him. I really do. But, what are you… why does that matter?”

_I’m just saying. You know how Bog gets._

“I do…?”

_Three weeks, Marianne. And you just send a message that you have to reschedule? Maybe you have a legitimate reason-_

“I do!”

_Oh, I know that, sweetheart. I really do. But does Bog?_

“What are you talking about?”

_I mean, not to say that the Goblin is an emotional train wreck made out of thorns filled with teddy bears and sparkles, but thats exactly what I’m saying. So please, by all means, crash the train. Go for it. Watch the sparks fly into the air. In fact, why not just bring along snacks while you do- those tend to make every show better. I mean, how hard can it be to watch those blue eyes of his crushed in disappointment?_

Marianne’s face slowly fell until it resembled one of understanding horror. _Oh god. Oh **god**_. Bog was like that, wasn’t he? So scared of rejection that anything would put him over the edge. So scared that at any moment he wouldn’t be worth her time anymore- that this was one big game and he was waiting for her to say ‘gotchya!’ and waltz away into Roland’s arms. He must have thought she was avoiding her. Three whole weeks. And if she canceled-

Then again, wasn’t she like that too?

She did miss Bog, dearly. And everything had been going so smoothly. But it was lacking. And she hated that it was lacking. They touched, yes. But everything between them was so chaste and shy and _new_. And lately, more than ever, there was a dire need to curl in his arms and stay there forever. She wanted to try. She truly did. But if she went forward with it- what if she scared him away. He was just so… oddly sensitive. And while it was useless to her in the long run, there was just something so deadly attractive about that particular trait. That he was so willing to go slow for her. 

But **as soon** as he flashed her a wild grin…

 **As soon** as his accent rumbled in her ear…

 **As soon** as his claws scraped up her side…

She didn’t _want_ to go slow anymore after the “as soon’s” occurred. And that scared her too. And her Tiny Voice knew it.

Was she asking for too much? Most likely. And it hurt that part of her knew it. 

 _Gods_ she had it bad.

She shook her head. “No. This is a real reason. And Bog and I- we’re in a relationship. These are things we have to deal with. He’ll understand.” Silence. “He will!”

_Oh of course he will! But just in case, why don’t we make doubly sure that you’re prepared to give him the news. Might I recommend you go and kick a baby chipmunk and then stare into it’s heartbroken eyes for a few seconds. That’ll help to really make sure you know exactly what you’re about to do._

“Oh man…”

_Wait a moment! Is this a change of heart I see!_

“Aw jeez…”

_It is, it is! Huzzah! Tiny Voice wins again! And to celebrate, let’s bring back our good friend Honey Covered Bog! HEY! HONEY COVERED BOG! SLATHER UP AND GET YOUR FINE SCALY ASS OVER HERE! WE’RE GONNA MAKE MARIANNE SQUIRM! ADD EXTRA HONEY! OH! AND REMEMBER THAT GREAT LEATHER PIECE I GOT YOU? YEAH! BRING THAT TOO AS INSURANCE!_

Marianne blanched. “Okay fine! You win! I’ll go on Wednesday!”

_You act as if the fantasies I deliver you are a punishment._

She blushed but didn’t disagree. And at that she swore she could feel the Tiny Voice in her Head do a rather exaggerated fist bump. Marianne groaned, turned back towards the mirror and stared for a few moments more. She was not exactly what most would call ‘in the best of shapes’. There was a lump under her shirt where the bandage was, and her entire frame was leaning just the slightest, taking pressure off her side until she rather looked like a frail weed on a blustery day. Her face was ashen, sparked with a too pink hue in her cheeks. Her hair was still mussed from the fight. And her face looked as if it was getting ready to be cast into a permanent scowl.

“Think anyones going to buy ‘I’m alright’?” she asked the empty room, adjusting her shirt and patting her hair. The makeup wasn’t doing much for her either the more she thought about it, and fixing it up would do nothing. Right now it just made her look paler than she was.

Tiny Voice in her Head shrugged. _Good question. Do you want me to be nice or honest?_

“Nice.”

_Oh of course! In fact, you look great! Better than ever! And say, have you lost weight?_

“Fine. Honest.”

_Here’s an abacus, kid. Start counting your blessings._

“That’s what I thought.” She chanced another look in the mirror and grimaced. Testing how it would look she practiced a smile. It was feral. So she gave up and hoped that her family would be okay with moody Marianne for a few days. She rubbed her side once more, and under the bandage it seared. “Alright then. Time to start another day. Wish me luck.”

_You’re screwed._

* * *

Tiny Voice in her head, jackass as it was, had been right.

The day had started out fine. A little hard to manage, but fine. And then afternoon hit and everything went downhill.

The Bad Beer Scratch, as Marianne had taken to calling it with some tiny inkling of attempted humor, burned like it was on fire. She had managed to get her hands on a few jars of poultice and had already applied three liberal layers by the time the sun was down. Nothing seemed to be helping.

Including Tiny Voice in her Head.

_Have you ever heard of a doctor? Great things, they are?_

_Marianne, your impression of an old hag is great! Just limp a little more and I’m sure you’ll be cast in your kingdoms next play before you know it._

_I know you feel bad now, but think of it this way. When that infection gets to your brain and leaves you totally without any way of controlling your fever dreams its going to be like Bog-Mania in your head. And by that I mean I’m pulling all the stops. Not just honey. But maybe even carmel. Or under a waterfall hair flips. Mmmm… honey covered Bog waterfalls… and leather… Tell me, how many angles of his butt have you seen, because I can tell you now that from every peek you’ve taken, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you stare you little minx you, I’ve counted all of seventeen. Well would it surprise you to know that there are 74.5 good sides? And we’re going to explore them all. In fact, I made a pie chart, just in case._

Her father had been easy to manage. He’d given up relatively easily without much of a fight.

“Darling, are you alright?” She had looked at him over the breakfast table, just realizing that she and her berry slice had been involved in the staredown of the century.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine! Why? Do I not look alright?”

“Oh no, you look fine!” He waved his hands, but his eyes stayed wary. “You just look a bit… tired. That’s all.”

“I am.” She yawned for show, making sure to put every square tooth on display. “You know how it is, though. So many royal duties, so little time.”

“Uh huh…” She poked at the berry, ducking away. Her father was dull, yes. And at times he could be infuriatingly ignorant. But she loved him and hated lying to the man. Her face burned red and she steeled her will. “Marianne, are you sure?”

She closed her eyes, breathed three times. Her side bumped against the tight bandaging. She breathed once more, feeling the wound follow the pattern with the timing of the best trained dancer. “Yeah, Dad.” Looking up she made sure to smile and hoped it didn’t look too terrible. “I’m fine.”

He’d dropped it after that, and she’d been equal parts relieved as she was guilty. But right now was not the time to bring up these things. It wasn’t the time to give him one more reason to keep her home.

And then had come Dawn. Her sister was not as easily tricked.

She didn’t approach Marianne until much later. The next day kind of later. But Marianne had been watching her trailing viciously behind, staring around corners and glaring through trees. She’d been onto her older sister since the breakfast table and had not once let up from the nagging feeling telling her that something was wrong. And, from what Marianne had learned about her sister, when she had one of those feelings she followed it, nose to the ground.

“You aren’t telling me something!”

“What?” She squirmed, wiggling on the stone bench. Her sister had cornered her in the garden the next afternoon, staring at the giant stalks of bluebells growing in droves around the borders and doing her best to look wistfully royal and not like she was about to break down into painful tears any moment. “No I’m not…”

“Yes. You are. Don’t you dare lie to me Marianne. I know when you’re lying to me.”

“Dawn, I’m not-”

She was interrupted by her younger sisters infuriated groan. “You’re so thick headed! If you weren’t my sister,” Dawn pointed at her, close enough to poke her nose with a slim finger, “I would probably… well I might not hit you… but I really can’t hit anyone. So… so I’d probably write you a strongly worded letter or… or, I don’t know… ignore you or something.”

“Okay…?”

“But you are my sister so I’m not going to do any of those things!” She crossed her arms, leaning back onto tiny heels. “So you’re going to tell me what’s happening right now or- or I’ll just walk away and come back later!”

 _She’s adorable when she’s trying to be tough._ The Voice sighed. _It’s like watching a minnow try to headbutt a turtle._

Yup, Marianne internally nodded. If there was anything that her Tiny Voice and her could agree on, it was Dawn. And angry Dawn was no different than regular Dawn. Babbling, silly and helplessly adorable.

A light breeze blew through the garden, scattering clouds that putted around above their heads. In all account, it was a perfect day. With the grass bending in the wind in tiny ripples and a sky as blue as a certain Goblin King’s eyes, it was odd for Marianne not to appreciate it. She would have usually been out and about, already making her rounds of the Kingdom or spinning frustrated paths through the air. But not that day.

No. She’d woken up feeling terrible.

Nauseous and sweating, with a new heartbeat growing under tight bandages. She’d staggered everywhere around her room, struggled with clothes and nearly broken down into uncharacteristic tears and yowls when she’d had to yank her form fitting clothes down over the all too sensitive Beer Scratch. And then she’d brooded alone for a good hour. Because if there was one thing Marianne hated more than being stabbed with dirty beer glasses it was being weak. And she’d been weak.

_Not doing so well, are you, Marianne?_

“Shut up,” she’d snarled. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

_I would, truly. But it just feels so good to be right!_

“I’m sure it does. Tell me, how would you like me to silence you. I’m sure I can find a way.”

 _Go for it. But remember, sweetie, I’m just you. And until that thing wears you down to a crying lump of your former self, I’m sticking around._ Marianne had swallowed and tried to not think so hard about the until of that sentence. _However, until then might I please try and cheer you up just a bit! I have a charming selection today! First, let us display the Bog butt in it’s native habitat. Note the sculpting and firm contours._

To sum it up, she had not had a fun morning.

Dawn interrogating her, no matter how cute, was just the final straw.

“Dawn, listen, I promise you that nothing is happening with me, okay? I’m fine.” She rubbed her temples. “Though I’m beginning to get a headache and I’d appreciate some quiet.”

“Well too bad!” Marianne’s brow hiked up. “I mean, too bad… please? Wait! No! I’m mad at you so I’m not even going to say please!” She stuck her dainty nose into the air. “And guess what! When I leave this conversation I’m not even going to tell you thank you or to have a good day. I’m going to storm away!”

“Okay, fine. So storm.”

“I’m not done yet!” Marianne groaned. “Now tell me whats going on!”

“Nothing.”

“That isn’t true!”

“Yes it is!”

“Dawn-”

“Don’t you Dawn me! I know something’s the matter, Marianne. And it is your duty as my sister to tell me everything!”

Marianne sighed, leaning back into the bench. She felt guilty enough already, and the lecture was doing nothing to help. “Dawn, listen. I’m tired. I’m cranky. And Dad has been giving me enough work as it is. I haven’t seen Bog in three weeks and apparently there’s a council being held soon dealing with _my_ relationship. and how it should carry forward.”

That part was true. In five days time, her father had told her. And it was peeving her to no end, eating her from the core out.

"So now. I’m not exactly in the mood to talk."

Dawn blinked at her forlornly. Her lower lip jutted out. Marianne sighed. How was it that her sister managed this every time? Gentle, sweet Dawn had absolutely no reserve when it came to what she wanted, but she’d never been as tough as Marianne. She never _fought_ like Marianne for what she wanted. Her fighting was softer, lighter, and yet just if not more productive.

"Look. You and I will talk later and I’ll tell you _anything_. But right now-“

"You promise!" Dawn pouted, poking her sister’s chest with a sharp finger. "Right now. You promise me."

"I _swear_.”

Dawn nodded. “Fine. Later.” She glared, or tried to. It was more of a very harsh squint. “But we _will_ talk.”

"Mmhmm…" Dawn gave her another squint before turning on her heel and storming away with all the anger of a puffy white cloud.

Marianne grimaced, prodding her side and wondering if she should change her bandage soon. She hated lying to her sister. More than her father. But she’d done it before and she’d do it again. For now there would have to be one more secret between them. Until then…

Her side pulsed sympathetically. 

And that night, burdened with lies and a deep seated need to see a certain Goblin King she did her best to choke through a sleepless pattern. The next day, Wednesday, she was well aware that a way out was not going to be possible.

* * *

She met him at his palace. He’d been dealing with a group of very demanding Goblins at his gate and had been more than happy to tell them, in less than favorable words, where they could go and what they could do with themselves there. 

"You know, you should be a _little_ more patient,” Marianne watched the grumbling group leave, casting her nasty looks. She smiled apologetically their way, flickering her fingers in salutations. “It might actually make a difference.”

He snorted. “They’re a group of stuffy old fools who want nothing more than to cut off relations with a certain Fairy Princess.”

Her brows rose. “That’s why they were here.”

He shrugged. He was avoiding the conversation, she could tell. “More or less.” Her brows went higher. “It’s not important now.”

"Bog, it’s pretty important. I mean you and I should talk about- mph!" Whatever she was going to say was cut off with his lips on hers. It was rare for him to be so forward and any thoughts she had slowly began to drip out of her ears. She felt his teeth graze her lip. It was an accident, she knew. But her knees still grew weak. She wondered briefly if it was from whatever her body was doing to her and decided that no, that was all from him.

She also wondered briefly if he could feel just how much heat must have been rolling off of her. Because if he didn’t then she was on her way to a pretty great afternoon.

It ended quickly when he pulled away with a shy smile and the knot in her stomach - _I missed you_ \- twisted further. “Hey,” he muttered.

"Hey." Her wings shivered. "Been a while, huh?"

"Two weeks, was it?"

"Three." She stepped forward and he took her in easily, the two fitting like two pieces of two different puzzles. Odd, but not unnatural. "Three stupid weeks."

"Three weeks is too long, love." His voice rumbled above her and she closed her eyes, falling into the embrace. So warm, so safe, so protective. She hummed and from above her she heard him chuckle. "Apparently I’m not the only one who thought so, yeh?"

She snorted, pushing away just enough to look up at him. “No. You aren’t. But apparently you and I are the only ones who think it’s _too much_ by way of time.”

"Your father again?"

Marianne wiggled out of his arms, too annoyed to be comforted, and he let her go without too much fuss. “The man- I swear. It’s like he’s trying to drive me insane.”

"He’s… he’s just trying to do whats best for ye."

She smirked. “A valiant effort to be a gentleman, Bog, but you can drop the act.” He smiled, guilty, shrugging his sharp shoulders until the edges nearly grazed his ears.

"I can try, can’t I?"

"Of course. And it’s sweet. But trust me, you and I are on the same page. Now…" She stood on her toes just enough to give him a quick peck on the lips- nothing much, but enough to have him blinking away shock. God how she loved him for that. That just the merest touch could have him reeling. That she could melt him with a gaze, fire him up with a kiss and kill him with a smile. It wasn’t power. It was recognition. Appreciation.

Not that he realized it went both ways. But hey, they were working on that.

Her side blanched, disgusted, and ready to be paid attention to again. _Pick me pick me pick me_! it pulsed in time. She winced, feeling another flash of nausea, and steeled her will.

 _Marianne_. The Tiny Voice in her head knew. Oh, it knew. And it was less than happy. _Marianne, don’t you dare ignore me_.

"Now," she patted the handle of her sword. "You and I had an arrangement, didn’t we?"

_Marianne, stop it._

"And don’t think I didn’t sharpen my sword for nothing, buddy."

_MARIANNE I SWEAR I WILL NEVER GIVE YOU ANOTHER FANTASY ABOUT HIM EVER, EVER AGAIN IF YOU DO THIS!_

But what’s done was done, and the smile Bog was giving her was near cruel. Not that her smile back was any better. He bowed, extending his arm towards the entrance of his castle. “The throne room is empty, my dear,” he purred, and a shiver ran down her spine. “But please, spare the chandeliers.”

 _This is going to end badly_ , Tiny Voice in her Head Groused. _And if it weren’t for the fact that that was damn near the sexiest thing he’s ever said I would so verbally destroy you right now._

**_Good thing for me then, huh._ **

Tiny Voice in her head shrugged, giving up. _Sacrifices must be made, I suppose._ A stutter in the air. _But if you so much as feel lightheaded-_

 ** _I’m ignoring you now_**. Marianne unsheathed her sword, turning to her opponent. Her side began to beat a steady death march. **_And trust me when I say that I’m not going to listen to a single thing that you say. Because this could end in a very nice kissing session. And are you really willing to put an end to that? Our first big kissing session?_**

_Tongue?_

**_Maybe…_ **

_Neck?_

**_More of a possibility._ **

_Will you touch his ass? His perfect, beautiful ass?_ Marianne watched Bog turn around to close the doors to the throne room and took a quick peek, tilting her head. She was starting to see what the voice had meant before. Yes. There definitely were more than 17 angles. She heaved a sigh.

 ** _Maybe_**.

Tiny Voice in her Head seemed to consider it, then nodded firmly. _Sacrifices_ , it said again, solemnly.

And when Bog finally did turn towards her, a positively evil smile gracing his face Marianne had to hold back another shiver. **_Sacrifices_** , she agreed, sword out. **_Bring it_**.

* * *

“You’re getting slow, Princess!”

Whether or not he realized that she didn’t retort she couldn’t be sure. But she fought back either way. Not to hurt. Not to try and fend him off. But she’d be damned if she let him knew just how weak she’d been. Just how weak she was. So she swung true with her sword and squnted through a veil of sparks. “Doin’ my best here, Bog King,” she grunted. “I’m just going easy on you.”

“Oh really!” He pinned her backwards, staff over her head. Her arms stretched, pushing back. Her side burned.

_Marianne…_

**_Not the time you stupid, stupid voice. We had a deal!_** She pushed harder. He sneered at her and she did her best not to open her mouth and say something back. If she did she was scared her final breaths would come out in a gust of perfect and ending air.

 _Marianne, you have to tell him!_ Her side seared, shouting at her in all sorts of terrible ways. _Deals off! This is not worth it! Not even worth his ass!_

 ** _I can do this_** _._ He pressed further. So did she. The wound gasped, opening. She ground her teeth.

_Marianne! Stop being an idiot or both of us are going to suffer for it!_

**_Good. I hated you anyways._** Bog said something. He must have said something. His mouth moved, that was for sure, and fangs flashed under the dim lighting. But there was such a ringing her her ears, and she’d be damned if the entire room wasn’t spinning. Her knees shook. _Ooh, who decided to turn everything on its head?_ Some demented God with a love for dreidel? She blinked and some of the pressure in her arms lessened. **_Somethings wrong…_**

 _No duh!_ The tiny voice was panicked now, searching around for some sort of fail-safe. _Tell him! Abort, abort, abort!_

**_No._ **

_TELL. HIM._

**_NO._ **

_Marianne, if you don’t stop acting like a total and complete-_

Every wish in the world was fulfilled with the Tiny Voice in her Head finally shut off to give her a moments peace. Of course, part of that may have been because, staring at Bog through the fog and the mist and the tilting and the blotches of red her arms gave way and she fell face first towards the ground. It wasn’t until halfway down that she realized where she was heading and just what was sending her there. She opened her mouth to scream, explosions erupting behind her eyes, but nothing would come out. From beside her there was a clatter of steel hitting the floor and she wondered briefly if she’d come close to winning.

 _Huh_. Most likely not. Not from the way the ground was coming closer to say hello.

“Marianne!” His voice broke through. Through the blinding white she felt him grab at her and save her from an impromptu introduction with petrified wood, long arms folding across her back, careful of her wings. She wiggled an glared up at him. Though her glare was more of a very intense stare. He shook her, lightly, and her head bobbed. “Whats wrong!” Scared, desperate and maybe even guilty. She couldn’t tell, blinking through the haze. Wrong? Was something wrong? All she could see was fog. Fog and blue. So much blue. Frightened, terrified, needing blue. She blinked again and her arms went up, trying to find a way to touch his face and let him know that everything was fine, and why was he worrying? She was just tired. Just a little… a little… she’d just fallen. That wasn’t an issue. Just… falling… down… But as soon as she did the skin stretched at her side and she was spiraling back down into a feral cry laced with too much nerve endings to count.

Oh yeah. Well… that made sense. She’d totally forgotten about that. She was hurt, wasn’t she?

 _Not good! Not good!_ The Tiny Voice in her Head was back and it was panicking, red lights blaring sirens in the backs of her eyes. _Help me! Help me! Can’t breathe! Can’t see! Help me!_

 ** _Can’t breath?_** Marianne tested it, just to understand what the Voice was talking about and found, with some amount of morbid fascination, that she couldn’t breathe. Well… that wasn’t good.

Bog shook her again, saying something. Huh. Well. That was odd. Usually she could hear him.

He was saying something again. Or maybe he was yelling it. She couldn’t be sure. His hands touched her face, so unbelievable cool and coarse and she leaned into them, relishing in what relief they provided. The whistle in her ears had begun to pulse and she did her best to tune it out, but nothing was working. Marianne sighed, annoyed, and wondered if she should have been more worried about this then she was.

No. Probably not. I mean… was there something to worry about? She was just a little tired. Just a little… a little…

There was a brief moment of darkness- perfect and whole and without any interruption. She fell through it, happy for a moments worth of calm. Too much going on. Her sister was annoying her and her father was keeping her from Bog and Bog- he had been holding her, hadn’t he? And boy that had been nice. She was content enough to stay in the dark quiet for some time more. Unfortunately someone else wasn’t having it.

“-anne.” Her nose wrinkled. Whoever it was was doing their best to annoy her. She tried to turn away only to be jerked back. “-anne!”

“Go away,” she mumbled, realizing too late that what she had said was more along the lines of a helpless murmur. “I don’t want to get up yet.”

_Marianne, you gotta wake up._

**_No. I don’t want to._ **

_Stop being so juvenile. Wake up._

**_No._ **

_Wake up right now or you’re going to really hate yourself for not doing it._ There was a pause. _If you even manage to do that._

**_No. I’m sleeping._ **

_You aren’t sleeping. You’re having a fit right now. In Bog’s arms. And he’s freaking out._

**_He’s fine. He’s good with stress._ **

_We’re talking about the same Bog, right?_

Marianne thought about it for a moment before mentally shrugging. **_Okay, so not good with stress. But either way, I’m just going to wake up eventually. I could do it whenever I wanted to._**

_Really?_

**_Really._ **

_Then do it._

**_Fine! I will!_** And so she tried to wake up. And couldn’t. So she tried again. And again. A ball of panic began to settle in her stomach, white and hot and oh so heavy. **_I can’t._** She realized with some horror. **_I can’t wake up!_**

_Told ya._

**_This is not the time to compare who’s right and wrong! I’m stuck right now! Do something useful for once in your life and wake me up!_ **

_What’s that supposed to mean,_ **_for once in your life_** _. I’ll have you know that my contribution to your very dull and arduous experience on this earth has been nothing if not incredible and you should take that into consideration before assuming that-_

**_Now!_ **

_Fine fine. Miss Bossy_. The Tiny Voice sighed and then snapped its tiny fingers. _I got it. Hold on._ There was a period of silence before a bright spark erupted. Once the smoke cleared there stood Bog in a little strappy number smiling like a lecherous fool.

 ** _What are you…_** Tiny Voice chuckled a chuckle to worry about and clapped it’s tiny, pervy hands. Strappy Little Number Bog began to lower one of the sleeves to his dress with a wink. ** _No way_**. Strappy Little Number Bog fanned out the crotch of his dress and winked at her. **_No. Friggen. Way._** It took her until the main event to realize that the ties to whatever was holding the thin thing clutching to his body were in the front and he was slowly beginning to untie those stupid frail ties. **_A strip tease! This is your brilliant plan!_**

_Yes. It is._

**_How the hell is this going to help!_ **

_Well, for one, it sure is helping me!_

**_This helps no one!_ **

_Oh honey, it helps someone._

Bog in the Strappy Number began to swing his hips. ‘Hey there Marianne.’ he said in that wonderfully rumble of his. ‘Lovely day isn’t it? How about I show you some sunshine **.** Or, better yet, the moonlight is _perfect_.’ Another tie snapped.

**_Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh._ **

_Marianne, may I introduce you to my new and improved Fantasy Bog. His name is Moonlight Screwlota and he will be entertaining you this evening. Tell me, have you ever heard of tongue acrobatics?_

How that worked, she would never know. But it did. Somehow, it did. Marianne was dragged back into the conscious world with a yelp, and a chuckle in her ear. _Told you I could wake you up._

Marianne would have snapped something truly witty back, and had prepared to with complete and utter fury building in her lungs, but when she did go to speak all that came out was another pained gasp.

Oh god… well… that didn’t feel good.

She blinked, opened her eyes and stared back into something very blue.

“Marianne!” Sound seemed to be switched back on and, besides the roar in her ears, was void of anything remotely high pitched. That was good, right? She blinked again. “Marianne! Speak to me, love!”

“-m here…” She scowled. “Stop shouting. And spinning.” He was more relieved than miffed and pressed a hurried kiss to her brow making her insides flip flop in the most delightful of ways.

“Oh thank the Gods. Thought I lost you there a moment.” He was trying to stay calm and he was failing brilliantly. Behind all the sharp edges the man had a face like an open book with pictures, diagrams and tiny arrows.

She hummed, wiggled, hissed. “-ow…”

“What’s-”

“Nothing,” she croaked. “I’m fine.”

“If this is fine-”

“Bog. I swear.” She did her best to get up, willing her head to stay as clear as it was now. Hoping it wouldn’t betray her. It didn’t. But another thing would. “I’m fin-ah!” Apparently the gash on her side was not having any of it and pulsed some sort of code as if to say _stay down you idiot! Are you trying to get yourself killed!_

“Marianne!”

“I’m augh!” _Stop saying you’re fine_. The voice in her head lounged, chiding. _Me and that Stabby can do this aaaaall day._

**_You blackhearted scoundrel. I knew you two were in cahoots._ **

_What can I say. I mean, I don’t like hurting you. But good god you’re fun to slap around sometimes. You should see your face._

“Shut u- oh god.” Her final words were more of a hiccup and she collapsed against Bog’s arms, still around her and still supporting, with a stupid, stupid helpless whimper. This was pathetic. This was absolutely, positively, pathetic. And apparently it was going to get worse and worse until she gave up and acted like being pathetic sometimes wasn’t bad or whatever sappy lessons it wanted to teach her.

_Also, while you’re figuring that out, vegetables are good for you, one foot in front of the other, friendship is magic and always look on the brightside of life._

“What’s wrong!” She peeled open her eyes once again to look up at Bog. Still holding onto her. Still scared. Marianne wanted to tell him she was fine if it would only wipe away the terrified, guilt swimming in those two gorgeous orbs.

_Don’t you dare._

So she did the only thing she could do. Because everything in her life was against her and there was no use in even trying. She gave up.

“My side,” she ground out. “I got… I got hurt the other day. Just a little scratch.”

With a nod, Bog hooked his fingers under her tunic and had shimmied it up towards her waist where it itched and scratched painfully at the loose skin. She felt his claws fix their way through and around the bandage, untying it from her waist. it fell beside her and the flash of red was not one to be confused with anything else. She swallowed.

_Told you it was bad._

When it hit air it was equal parts relief as it was horror. The cool breezes winding through cracks in the palace walls were wonderful, and it provided few good seconds of relief from underneath the thin wall of material that had been heating it throughout the day. Then again, catching a glance at Bog’s face and then down through his line of vision she couldn’t even begin to blame him for the way he had blanched.

Last time Marianne had checked it, the wound dubbed ‘Stabby’ had looked angry. Now it looked downright furious. Taking over the left side of her torso like it had property rights. Red and puckered, a yellow aura of sickly infection echoing out of the side like the most psychotic of halo’s. And it had spread. Delicate filigree of scarlet inching its way up her torso, teasing her with gentle nips. She swallowed and twisted her body just enough to see how it would react, nearly bucking at the way the taut skin arched and seared. Sweat pooled against her brow and another breeze caught it, stroking down in an attempt to sooth her.

“Oh…” said Marianne. She chanced a look at Bog again, partially to stop looking at the thing that had started taking over her body. Then again, once she had it seemed like the better option. As perfectly terrible as the wound had looked The Bog King may have been even worse. She swallowed back, and her dry throat ached. “Bog… I hadn’t realized it had-I didn’t know it was so-”

“When?” Then. “How?”

Another bead of sweat pressed down her side, heat pulsing out of every part of her. “It’s not a big-”

“How.”

Marianne flinched. Because he’d never been this enraged. And she’d never felt this useless. This entirely powerless. “There was a scuffle in my village and I- I mean I stopped someone from getting hurt so it was fine, but, you know,” she shrugged, trying to make light of entire thing. “I just got… a little stabbed and-”

“You were stabbed!”

“A _little_ stabbed. A _little_.” She wiggled again but he just held her tighter.

“And you didn’t think to tell me!” She wasn’t sure if the rumble in his voice was the beginnings of violent anger or the swell of a betrayed man. She decided it was both and upon further inspection of his face decided that while the latter was hidden it was the former that was beginning its very fast ascent. She glared back. Fight fire with fire as they say.

“It wasn’t a big deal!” Oh boy, did yelling hurt. But Marianne wasn’t just going to take his fight lying down. “So what. I messed up. That doesn’t give you a right-”

“Doesn’t give me a right!” the Bog King roared, and her head near exploded at that. “I have every right. And don’t you dare assume that I don’t!”

“This happened in the fairy Kingdom. If you haven’t noticed, what happens there isn’t your business. If I get hurt-”

“ _I expect you to tell me!_ ”

She pushed out of his grasp, gasping and scuttling across the floor. Trying to stand and finding it completely impossible she instead took to glaring at him from the empty space between. “ _You can’t expect me to think that I’m going to tell you every time something bad happens! Your job isn’t to make me feel **weak**.”_

His wings batted out at his sides. Bog, unlike her, could stand. And he did- belittling her with every foot. “ _You think that’s what this is!_ ”

“ _Yes! You’re overreaction about- about- ugh! I wasn’t even going to tell you-_ ”

“ _You what!_ " His wings buzzed. He jumped up, was in the air, and a snarl hit her with force.

She nearly ducked away when he lunged at her. There was a flash of shame -how could she ever think him capable of causing her harm- followed by a crash of surprise when he gathered her in his arms with near violent intent and the two of them were speeding through the castle at a speed he’d never traveled before. The world speeding past in oil paintings and his growl at her ears she could do little but close her eyes and breathe through the fear of whatever was to come.

_Now you’ve done it, Marianne. Look what you’ve done. You’re going to die lonely with Bog hating you even more than you hate yourself._

**_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_ **

And, to her surprise, the voice did leave after that, going to sulk in a corner and don its funeral cap no doubt.

When the world did stop speeding past, they were in his bedchambers, or what she could assume to be just that. There was no time to look around and the lighting from the small windows by an alcove was beginning to wane, hitting piles of books and papers scattered around the window benches. She was dropped onto a mound of moss, stunned into silence. Before she could argue a shadow swallowed her and he was there, standing over her, wings out, dominant, fluttering with ill-intent. “Stay,” he growled. “Or so help me-”

“You can’t just threaten me, Bog King,” she snapped back. Well, the good news in all of the chaos was that if his plan was to get her angry enough to forget about the festering infection taking over her body, it was working. It most likely wasn’t in the itinerary for the day, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“You _will_ stay put. _Unless you want to do this from the dungeons._ ”

“Try that and you’ll soon see what’ll happen to you. Don’t think that because I’m physically unable to kick your ass that I’ll just forgive and forget.”

“ _Well neither can I_.”

The two snarled at each other another trying to find the submissive- doing their best to hold ground. Her teeth bared, his fangs drawn. He pointed his staff at her- a final statement. “ _Wait. Here._ ”

And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him and his shouts echoing in the walls outside. And Marianne was left huffing and stewing and wincing atop the soft moss of his bed and feeling utterly hopeless.

“Nothing to say now, tiny voice?” she panted through another round of needles. “No pearls of wisdom?”

_Nope. You’re pretty much screwed._

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious.”

_You’re man sure is freaky when he’s scary. If this is how you two fight, think of how kinky the make up sex is going to be._

Marianne folded over and fell face forward into the blankets, quite done with the world at the moment and hating herself more and more by the minute. Her life was falling apart in mere seconds. And all because a tiny fairy with a bad drinking habit and decent aim just had to stab her on the side with a broken beer stein while riding piggy back like some sort of demented clown-rodeo.

 _Oooh… rodeo…_ An image of Bog dancing in her head to some sort of country tune popped into her mind. _Mmm… a little bit more cowboy in there and THERE WE GO!_ Rodeo Bog was now swinging his hips with all the indecency of Moonlight Screwlota and Tiny Voice in her Head was clapping along with the enthusiasm of a seven year old with a sugar fix. Marianne wailed into the sheets, pounding her fists onto the bed.

“Stop it! Now!”

Bog, who had gone full stripper mode, minus the dress which she supposed was a blessing, stuck his staff into the ground and spun on it.

“ _Not. The. Time_.”

Moonlight Screwlota Bog licked the staff.

“NOW!”

_I make no promises! I will return! And he will be with me in sequins. You hear me? SEQUINS!_

But after that all images of the kinky and very adult type vanished along with the subconscious that wielded them and she was left in her current situation. No better off. In pain. And with a very angry Bog now storming around the castle threatening everything in his wake.

She was supposed to die in battle, screaming her lover’s name to the stars. Not with the image of Bog as a horny rodeo star in her mind, an injury caused by a stoop backed fairy on a drunk rampage at her side and angry words at still in the air.

“Worst day ever,” she groaned into the bed. And though the Tiny Voice was silent she could almost see it nod in agreement.

* * *

Sitting alone in the room had been a guilt trip of itself. Her anger had slowly seeped away onto the sheets below her followed by what could only be described as a resolute acceptance.

She hadn’t told Bog. Why hadn’t she told Bog? He’d been right in what he’d said, and Dawn hadn’t been far off in her own speech. You tell people you love when something is wrong. And Marianne loved Bog, didn’t she?

Did she?

They hadn’t really said it. Not yet. Not truly.

Yes, they’d sung it. But they’d never…

And that hurt more. Perhaps not telling him had betrayed any semblance of an idea that what they had was love. Perhaps trust to him-

She was aware that Goblin culture was as focused and supported by principal and honour as the fairy’s. But fairies were more open, more talkative. She’d cut that off after Roland. After she’d learned that maybe simply _saying_ things wasn’t ever enough and you can lie quicker than you can spew mixtures of twenty six letters and not mean a single one of them. An entire construction of a future can be dashed when words that built it are crumbled with a single blow. Words were weak.

Trust? That was strong.

She and Roland had never had _that_. But she and Bog? Well, they’d had it. Until now. And she hoped to all hopes that she hadn’t destroyed it. This was as much about her safety as it had been their… whatever they had.

Part of her didn’t want to see Bog so she could wallow more.

Another part of him wished more than anything that he would waltz in and she could open every piece of her up until it all spilled over and they both drowned.

Bog wouldn’t come back. But that didn’t mean she was alone.

An hour later, when she’d finally wallowed herself into a meditative state of sorts -or perhaps it had been something close to a complete blackout- the door to the room had opened, closed, and awkward footsteps had toddled her way. She looked up, half expecting Bog to be there. _Hoping_ he’d be there.

"Sorry. Who are you?"

"Crunchbone, M’lady." The Goblin was an odd one, with a stubby little body too comical for it’s stern face. He wore spectacles that made his beady black eyes huge. He didn’t smile, but he did turn up his nose and she supposed that was close enough to the same thing. "I’m the King’s personal doctor, Miss."

"Doctor," she blinked. "He called for a doctor?" She had almost expected him to leave her be while he stewed elsewhere.

"Of course, M’lady. The King had me come on emergency. From home, might I add. And at this hour-"

"I’m sorry." She was just noticing his clothing. She hadn’t even suspected Goblin’s to be in possession of the things. Then again, Griselda wore dresses and large rocks as jewels. Why shouldn’t others. His ensemble was more of a dressing robe, crinkled with signs of wear and misuse, having most likely been hurried through the forest by a frantic King who had no doubt nearly rammed his door down. "He can be a _bit_... intense at times," she did her best to empathize with the poor man, showing her teeth in what she suspected to be a rather terrible smile. "Especially when he’s on a mission."

"It’s my job, miss. Now, if you would." Chrunchbone swirled his finger in the air. She nodded, turning to give him enough access to the skin. He hoed, hummed. "Yes, this does rather look bad. When did you get this?" His fingers brushed around the sides, large and bloated covered in tiny raised hairs.

"Ugh… three days ago, maybe?"

He clucked his tongue. “You didn’t think to say anything?”

"I can be an idiot." She stated plainly.

He raised his nose again in what she now knew was a smile. She briefly imagined him telling jokes and decided it to be an impossible feat. “Hmm,” he hummed. “Well, I suppose there’s nothing to do but fix it up. We’ll have to drain it. Stitch it up. Wont take but an hour.” He revealed a bag sitting behind a pile of books, opening it with a mutter of, “then we can all get some sleep.”

She sympathized, holding back a yawn.

"Before we begin, if you would." He extended his hand, a tiny white thing sitting in the open. She took it, rolling it between her fingers.

"What is it?"

"Condensed mushroom, m’lady. The missus at home makes them. Dried mushroom powdered and condensed with sap. Won’t take but a few moments for it to kick in."

Marianne nodded, popping the tiny ball into her mouth. It tasted bitter and sweet at the same time, the sap something irregular and dry and chalky. She swallowed, feeling it travel down. “We don’t have things like that in the Fairy Kingdom.”

"Well, you wouldn’t would you?" He continued to ruffle through his bag. "Those things can be toxic if you don’t know what you’re doing."

"Huh."

"And I’ve known too many Goblins here to find those mushrooms and eat them like they’re nothing but simple fungi. No. I would imagine you’d never see something like that and I hope it stays that way."

She started to agree, or at least put in her two cents when it came to the Fairy Kingdom’s ability to control themselves around strange an unusual things, but never quite got the chance. She frowned. Why was the wall dripping? Last time Marianne had visited the castle hadn’t been melting. Could it? She knew for one thing that it could fall (oh boy, it could _fall_ ). But melt? Was that a thing? It began to drip some more, the room falling down towards the floor like putty lying in the sun. She found her lack of care to be almost as disturbing as the melting walls and decided, leaning back into the sheets, that now was not the time to worry about such things anyway. “It sounds… it sound… aw-aw-” Her tongue wasn’t catching the rest of the word. 

"Awful would be the word, miss."

"Yeah. _Awsome_.”

"Close enough, miss."

She ignored him, gaping at the ceiling, now stretching down to meet her like the sap that held together the capsules. Wow… was the world supposed to be spinning like that? Most likely not. She didn’t remember the last time it had. “Wha-whash in thish…” Ooh boy. Slurring. Not good.

“Just a mild anesthesia. Psilocybin mushrooms. I’ll wait a few moments before I start, m’lady.”

“Oookaaay…” _Slow motion. Not normal._ And… were those pink sparkles. Oh! Yes! She raised a hand to try and grab at the magic that had begun to flutter all over. “Soooo pretty!” She turned to the doctor. “Yer pretty…”

“Thank you, m’lady.”

“Kiss me!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Noooo. Baaaaad idea. Boggy Woggy Loggy Soggy would be mayd. So ma-yad.”

“I beleive that is correct, m’lady.”

She was silent a moment before smiling too wide for her face, giggling happily and reaching upwards towards the ceiling once more. “Why Boggy! I nevar kne-ee-eew yew were a pegasaur!”

“I believe you’re more than enough ready, m’lady. If you could just lay on your side for m- please don’t touch my face, m’lady. Fingers stay out of noses. It’s not socially acceptable. Now turn. Thank you very much. You might feel a slight pinch, but keep your eyes on the, what was it you said? The pegasaur? Yes, that, and we should be fine.”

Bog met the man outside his chamber doors, shutting the rabbit leather bag shut with a click. “How is she?” He twisted his staff between worried fingers. His mouth tasted of blood and rust from where his teeth had chewed endlessly at his lip. It had split enough times to start to hurt, but he didn’t feel much of anything. “Is she-“

"She’s fine. She has a fever and one quite the attitude. But otherwise, she’s fine." The Doctor was one of the few people who resided within his Kingdom besides his mother who could look him strait on without fear. It was endlessly irritating. "I’ve given her something that should keep her asleep for a few hours."

"Good," Bog rumbled, nodding. "And the wound?"

"It will heal fine. You were right to call, no matter how terribly annoying the hour might be." Bog growled. Crunchbone sighed, bored. "You got lucky, sire,” the Medical Man drew his head up, barely blinking at the fearful monarch. “A few more days and you would have had a dead fairy.”

“It will do you well to hold your tongue.”

“I’m simply pointing out your good fortune, sire. But I can’t promise that the same luck can be given twice. Whatever she had, it sat for quite a while. It was preventable, but something kept it from treatment.”

“That would be her, being a stubborn idiot.”

"She told me as such," he said, and held his tongue regarding other stubborn idiots who’s names began with Bog and ended with King “It has been drained and sutured and there is a jar of poultice at your bedside. Apply it three times a day for four days and you should be more than fine. Avoid any type of movement. No fighting, running or any actions of the… ehem… romantic kind.”

“ _Yes._ Thank you _very_ much.” The Bog King snarled to hide his flush. “ _Anything else_?”

“Yes. When you do confront her now, as I know you will against all my best interests, please keep in mind that she’s still on a mild hallucinogenic.”

“You gave her hallucinagins!”

“ _Mild_ hallucinagins. _Mild_ , sire. I am not a fool. Though, I will say, I never knew that fairies had such strong… reactions. So if she happens to confuse you with someone named…” he plucked a notebook from the pocket of his robe, flipped a page, squinted, “Moonlight Screwlota, please do not be alarmed.”

“Uh…”

“And if she happens to also mention you…” he checked his book again and in a most professional tone added, “slathered in honey and, I am quoting this, sire, please refrain from grinding your teeth, dancing like a rodeo star playing tongue acrobatics, please keep in mind that there is no ill intent.”

“Uh…”

“And if she happens to also mention you-”

“ _You know_ , I think I can take it from here.” He rushed, doing his best to keep his face as angry as possible and _not_ let the words get to his head as they were already doing, burrowing away and feeding off of his humility.

“Quite right, sire, quite right. Have a pleasant evening.” He shuffled out with barely a flinch. “And while I do love working for you, sire,” the Goblin called over his shoulder, “please keep in mind that we all need our sleep. Do try to get hurt at a more reasonable hour, wont you?”

Bog slammed the door after him.

* * *

When Bog entered his chambers once more he was met with a wall of inky black. The medicine man had been kind enough to put out the candles and they left behind a memory of burning wax and smoke. It was odd, lacing itself together with the smell that was so indistinguishably _her_. So different from the musk of past fire. A light, bright, sunny sort of stain. He swallowed, reminding himself that he was mad at her. But the thought that she would linger on in his sheets while he slept there was one that couldn’t be denied to him. 

Bog shook his head. There was a reason he was here.

“Boo-ooo-oogy!” She chirped and then giggled.

That would be The Reason calling.

“I see the mushrooms did their work.” he sauntered over, only pausing to lean his staff beside the bed and glower down at her.

“Mmmhmm.” She nodded hard enough to snap her head off its base and then giggled again. “I love that st-sh-shtuff!”

“Yes, well, it does have its drawbacks.” He sat beside her and she bounced along with the dip, clapping happily. “Like personality changes.” He added dryly. His hands went out to still her and she took the advantage, grabbing his arms and pulling herself closer. He snorted. “Hopefully you wont remember any of this. But know that I have every intention of using this against you in the future.”

Not quite understanding what that meant, _and wouldn’t she regret that later_ , Marianne reached to stroke his chest, but ended up slapping his chin instead. “Boggy…”

“Bog.”

“Boggy.” She decided with a glare. “My Boggy Woggy Loggy Soggy Misery King.” The glare turned lecherous. “He-eee-ey, Boggy. Do you wa-wanna have some fun?”

“No.” He coughed, pushed down the heat in his stomach and the pink that bloomed happily in his cheeks. “You’re not really all here. Save it for later, love. Besides, I’m quite angry with you.”

Apparently she didn’t agree and tried her best to climb her fingers up his shoulder but instead ended up creating a small spasming creature having small twitching episodes over his arm. He put it out of its misery, pushing her away. She pouted, then her brow furrowed. “Still mad at me?”

“Yes. Furious.”

“Furry-frurry-frurrious?”

“Furious. And yes. I am.”

“Frurrious!” She wailed in despair, flopping back onto the bed. “Aw, c’mon Boggy!”

“Bog.”

“Jes’ meshed up one time.”

“I think you’re taking this entire thing a little bit too casually.

"Nope nope nope. Not cas-cash-you-all-ee. Whoo!" She threw her arms up. "Tell the room to stop spinning."

"No. That’s what you get." A chuckle betrayed him by slipping out and he gave into the smile that was doing its best to follow. "And the room _isn’t_ spinning. That would be whatever the old coot of a doctor gave you.”

"It is _too_ spinning. Your ceiling is _stupid_.”

"I’ll keep that in mind." He grabbed one of the covers from the end of the bed, draping it over her. "Now if you wouldn’t mind-"

"Your ceiling is stupid!"

"Yes, you mentioned that."

She crossed her arms. “So’s your floor.” Her glare at the ceiling turned on him. “So’s your stupid face.” Bog rolled his eyes but did give his face a light touch. Marianne sighed through the glare, grabbing his attention just enough for her hands to once more crawl up his chest. “Your stupid beautiful, handsome face.” Bog bowed his in surprise, a sharp breath tingling against his ribs, gave himself enough lenience to let a tiny slanted grin to crawl its way up. She sighed once more, but her foul mood was gone with it replaced by something ridiculously sappy. “I love your smile.”

"Even with all my craggly fangs."

"I like your fangs!" Marianne defended. "They’re… _sexy_.” The Humble part of him currently producing the light blush threw all sense of shyness out the window and burned a bright red. “ _You’re_ _sexy_.” That same Humbleness did a little dance in his head that included far too much gyrating and jazz hands for his liking. 

He told that little dancer to bugger off and it stuck out its tongue before continuing it’s magic crotchy dance. “And you’re drugged,” he pointed out, shaking away all past thoughts. “Go to sleep.”

"I am not drugged," she argued back. "I could do _anything._ " Bog nearly believed her. The fae’s voice was clearer, eyes brighter, more determined then she’d been since this entire ordeal started. But then she motioned for him to come closer, no doubt ready to tell him the secret of the century and everything returned when her finger pressed his nose. " _Boop_.” She said seriously.

"Sleep." He growled. _No one_ booped the Kings nose.

He wondered briefly if that could be made into a law and decided quickly that no, it could not. No one would take something dictating ‘the King’s nose is not to be booped under any circumstance even if those happen to be ones that correlate with the usage of magic mushrooms’ with any semblance of a sober attitude. 

Marianne sighed, but did snuggle down under the moss. “Fine.”

"Good." He rested beside her and for a moment all was quiet.

"Your sexy face is still stupid though." Followed by, " _Boop_.”

Bog was going to remember this for all time. And he knew right then that many a fight would be won by the great Booping incident on his side.

* * *

Marianne would awaken with her head splitting open. She growled, and then hissed. **_Noise. Movement. All bad ideas. Just stay still._** She attempted to do just that but found it even more difficult with the vines wrapped around her. She wiggled, trying her best to part from them.

The vines dragged her closer.

Her eyes popped open a moment and she looked down. Vines did not have hands, last time she’d checked. And they most certainly did not have claws. Or bodies. Or faces that were close to hers.

She blinked and blinked again. **_Holy moly, I’m in Bog’s room. In Bog’s bed. With Bog. Bog’s in his room in his bed with me._**

She half expected her twisted conscience to chime in but all stayed silent and still. A relief from everything.

She felt him shift beside her and closed her eyes tighter, hoping to anything that might be listening-

“I know you’re awake, Marianne.”

-damn.

She fluttered her eyes. “Hey.”

He untangled himself from her and she nearly protested. “How are you-” he motioned weakly to her side. “How is it.”

She tried to get up, pressing her arms like levers only to sink back down. “Sore.” His eyebrow raised and she groaned. “Fine. It hurts like the devil. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

"More or less," he nodded curtly. She supposed that he wasn’t shouting had to be somewhat of a win in her favor and did her best to at least shuffle a little against the cool sheets, facing him.

"What happened?"

"I called in a doctor, remember?" She nodded. "But I’m guessing that you wont remember much after that."

"Not much, no." She rubbed her brow with the heel of her hand. "He gave me something. And after that," she shrugged. "The walls were melting, by the way. Just in case you wanted to know."

He snorted. “Honestly, the amount of elixir he gave you was uncalled for. I’m surprised you can remember your first name.” He ducked his head towards her. “You can remember that, can’t you?”

"I’m Marianne. And your Bog." She smirked then went back to rolling her hands against her temples. "I’m guessing you don’t have the cure for headaches."

"No. Sorry."

"Didn’t think so."

His search for whatever he was after was over when he held a jar into the light. Whatever was in it shone an amber in the dim folds and soaked against his hand, turning his skin golden. He twisted the lid open with a hiss, scooping out a liberal amount of the goop onto his hand. “Here, uh… turn for me, wont you?”

She gave him a look, but did turn enough for him to work his shirt up. Staring in fascination Marianne was pleased enough to see the redness gone, the yellow that had resided there fading and a light bruising of purple and blue and green taking its place happily, settling against the black stitching that crawled a ladder through her ribs.

"Yikes."

He snorted, smearing whatever the stuff was against it. There was a tingle and then a cold hush.

"You know…" she broke through some of the silence that she could feel coming on. He was far too focused in his job to be anything but awkwardly avoiding her. "I do remember a little from last night."

"Do you," he said to Stabby, avoiding her. She wondered briefly if he was still angry and settled it with the very true thought that he had every right to be "What would that be."

She shrugged, Stabby moving along with her. “Not a lot. Just a little.”

"Do you remember when you booped my nose?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Please, carry on."

Marianne let that one go with a glare to he top of his head before sinking back into her own discomfort. “I remember… I remember that you were… _angry_ with me.” He stiffened. “And I wanted to… um…” Come on, Marianne. You’re his Tough Girl. You can do this. “I mean, you had every right to be. But I wanted to say I was… sorry.”

Bog stilled. His hand against her skin, leaving it there for a moment, he stared at Stabby with a grimace.

"I’m sorry I didn’t tell you," she continued. "It was stupid. And I was being a pig headed idiot. So… yeah."

There was a softening then. The hard plates of his face losing just enough of their stressed pressure to look lighter, more relaxed. Almost forgiving. “What brought this on?”

She shrugged. “I dunno. My sister maybe. But she came to me yesterday and made me feel awful and I was thinking about her because she’s always right and-” _stay on topic, Marianne._ “But she was right. She said some things and she was right. And I’m sorry.”

They sat there like that until Bog moved to put the jar on a stack of books nearest the bed. The poultice still stuck to his fingers, still shimmering. He wrung his hands before looking at her. His eyes were far off, sad, desperate. “You… you scared me.”

“I know.”

“What if something…” he pushed out a breath from his nose, looking away. “I don’t want to find out too late.”

“You’re right…” And wasn’t that hard to say. She filled her chest, inching forward just enough to grab his hand, pleased when he didn’t move way. “You are. We’re together. We have to do things together. I should have told you. I just… I didn’t want to scare you-”

“But I want to know the scary stuff!” His blue eyes were pleading. And she was beginning to realize that the anger, the screaming, the fits of rage, were all becoming harder and harder to remember, especially when those were on her. He wasn’t angry. He’d never been _angry_. Bog had been scared. And he never quite knew how to do it. “I want to be happy and frustrated and scared with you! That’s why I’m here. So you can tell me things.”

Her stomach did a little flip flop and she squeezed his fingers. “Even the scary things.”

“Especially the scary things,” he agreed.

"I should have said something. And next time-" his head shot up, " _not that I’m saying there will be a next time._ But if anything like this happens you’ll be the first to know.”

He nodded resolutely, but did look a great deal more secure then he did a few minutes ago.

She nodded back, sighed, looked away. “If you want me to leave I will. I would get it if you didn’t want to see me right now. I’ve been an idiot.”

“You have,” he agreed, but she could hear the smile in his voice and relaxed. “A huge idiot.” He paused.

“And pigheaded.” He snorted, and she took it as a sign to move closer, tentatively. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “This whole… communication thing. It’s new for me.” There was a sigh that wanted to come out, but she held it back. “You’ve got to understand. It’s not… it’s not easy for me.”

“You say that like its easy for me.”

“When it comes to these things, yes. If I want to be taken seriously as a fighter I have to stay strong.”

Bog sat on the bed then, moving towards her. She fell into his arms when he offered and he pulled her close. She pressed her ear against the warm plates and listened to the beat talk in exotic codes that only she felt honored enough to understand.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.” She felt the rumble of his voice and his lips atop her hair. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

“Even if I get hurt?”

“Even if you get hurt.” She finally did let the sigh out and his hand found the back of her neck. “Even if you cried at every sappy romance story in the world I would still think you were the strongest.”

“I’m your Tough Girl?”

“You’re my Tough Girl.”

And just like that, most was forgiven.

She buried her face into his neck, breathing in the smell of moonrise in the forest- rotting wood, dew, the freshness of snow drops that grew through the frost of nighttime. “Would you have really put me into the dungeon,” she muttered, and her fingers found the scratches of his shoulder, following it along. “Because if that’s a yes, I’m going to have to truly show you just how tough I am next time we fight.”

She felt the chuckle hit her skin. “No. I was trying to find a way to keep you still. That just… came out. Force of habit, I suppose. By the way, you, Princess, are a _terrible_ patient.”

"You’re not the first person to say that."

"Well… I did what I had to. And it worked."

"And you did that by being a hardheaded ass?"

"Yes."

"Good." He chuckled again and she let herself lean into it. Safe. Warm. Maybe even a little bit of home. She hadn’t felt like this in so long and it was good for her. Everything would have stayed perfectly content if he hadn’t had to have messed it up by asking;

“So, now that we’ve gotten everything taken care of, care to tell me how this happened?”

She groaned and pushed away, long fingers going to massage small circles into her temples. “It was… it was really stupid. There was some commotion in town.”

"Go on."

She huffed. “One of our locals he’s… he likes his drink a little too much.” He stayed quiet, so she continued. “Anyway, he had access to a weapon this time and started harassing some of my people when they walked past.”

“Weapon?”

“Small dagger. Nothing to worry about.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway, I went down and I saw him. It only took a few kicks to even get him down and away from everyone. It wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t even need my sword. But I got careless… and I turned away from him-”

“And he got you with the dagger.”

She cleared her throat and blinked hard past the blush. “No… uh… no, actually he didn’t really know how to use the dagger. He mostly just kind of drew pictures of angry unicorns doing very… um… creative things with other angry unicorns into the dirt with it.”

“So… the stabbing…”

She sighed, but it was too late to stop. “He broke his beer stein and jumped on me.” She rubbed her temples. “I think he was trying to get me to give him a ride and his arm went down and… well… you know. The rest is history.”

“You got stabbed with a beer stein?”

“A _broken_ beer stein. Did you not hear my story?”

“No, I did. So… you were stabbed by a tiny piggy back riding fairy with a beer stein and a bad attitude and a fondness for angry unicorns.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” She paused. “And they were horny angry unicorns of the very lude kind. I mean, some of those positions looked near impossible.”

"So you were defeated by a young fairy-"

"Oh God, Bog, that’s the worst part." She buried her face into her hands and muttered something.

"Sorry, didn’t catch that."

"n-y s’en"

"Sorry, Princess, you’re going to have to talk louder."

"He was ninety seven."

There was a moment of awkward stillness. And then to her horror Bog broke out into the loudest fit of laughter she’d ever heard from him. “ _You were defeated by a geriatric fairy who draws angry unicorns!_ ”

"Yes, alright, yes. It’s hilarious. Ha. Ha. Ha."

He was hardly far from done. “ _Do you think he even knows what he did to you!_ " He gasped through his chortles. " _Oh my- I should hire him onto my guard! If he can take you better than my army!_ ”

"He didn’t take me! I was caught unawares!"

“ _By a geriatric drunk!_ ”

"Knock it off, Bog! This is embarrassing as is." She swatted at him and he moved skillfully away.

"Apologies, Tough Girl."

"Oh please. You’re not sorry."

"No. I’m not. That was incredible!" He gathered her into his arms despite her protests, winding all of him around her. "It’s a story they’ll be telling through time."

"Oh hardy har har."

"They’ll write songs of your heroism," he let out a guffaw, and his fingers curled into her hair. "Though I don’t know how they’ll manage with words like Unicorn and Old-Coot."

"You’re never going to let this drop, are you? This is going to be a thing. We’ll walk through your Kingdom and you’ll point out every old person and said _look out! He’s going to get you!_ ”

"Now that you’ve said something-" She swatted him again and he caught her hand, pressing his lips to it. "You, Marianne, are always surprising me."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Good." 

"Still think I can take you?"

"I have no doubt."

"Even though you’re an’ old geezer."

She felt him scowl atop her head and snorted. “I’m not _that_ old.”

"You brought this on yourself."

"As if you have any right to be getting back at me!" He scowled. "I’m still supposed to be angry at you."

"Let’s call it even, then?"

"Never." His nose scraped her ear and she kept down a shiver. "We’ll settle this once your up and about."

"Sounds perfect."

_I know a way you can settle it._

**_Great. You’re back._ **

_Oh Darling, I never left._

Marianne rolled her eyes but did little for it. If the Voice was going to talk it was going to talk. She was quickly learning to let it have its way.

The air was lighter after that, and what conversation they did have flowed easily. He told her what she’d missed in the three weeks she’d been gone, genuinely happy that there was interest in any subject of Dark Forest politics. She told him all about what her father had been doing to keep her occupied, leaving out choice bits where he verbally attacked her and Dawn for their choices in men. 

"I should tell Dawn I’m here," Marianne told him, remembering. "She knew something was wrong."

"You didn’t tell her either."

"She has enough to worry about."

"Marianne-"

"Let it drop, Bog. At least for now." The Goblin didn’t seem too happy with it, but he at least changed the subject.

"I’ll send a message through the mushrooms. They’ll get it to her soon enough."

"Mmm… she’s going to be pissed."

"She has a right."

"She does. I just don’t know how I’m going to get home like this."

"You aren’t going anywhere!" He cleared his throat when she looked up at him, brow raised. "I mean… not that I _want_ … I mean _I do_ but the doctor…” he shrugged, trying to look far more blase than he felt and she smirked. “Doctors orders, you know. I’m just being responsible. Keeping you safe. All that.”

"I appreciate it. But I _can_ take care of myself, Bog.”

"I know that. Believe me. But the doctor-"

She threw her hands up. “Fine! We’ll listen to the doctor! I’ll stay. It’ll be a sacrifice I’ll have to make in lieu of an injured spriit, I’ll stay.”

He grinned, far too happy for his own good, only stopping to point out, “Of course you also know that this means you’re stuck with me.” He looked away, and it took her a moment to realize that he was blushing. And even longer to realize that she was doing the same. She had an excuse, though- the doctor told her she had a fever. That was definitely the cause for the blush. And the butterfly wings in her ribs. And the happy little ball of glitter currently exploding in her heart. 

"Shame," she whispered, a smile forming slow like molasses. Like caramel. Like honey.

 _Hah! I told you! Always comes back to the honey_.

**_Quiet, you. Let me have this._ **

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Shame." He moved closer, and his nose grazed her ear, sharp spindles of his brow hitting hers. "Doctor said you couldn’t move, though. Are you…" he swallowed. "Are you alright sharing a bed for a few days?"

He made it sound like a punishment. But Gods if he couldn’t feel her heart charging through her chest.

Finally. _Finally_.

How was it that it took _this_ long to even get the _chance_ of contact! _How_!?

"Sounds fine to me," her breath grazed his face and his eyes lit up, grateful. So scared that she was disgusted. With him. Scared that she would reject him, not want to be close. Because there were just too many differences. Too many things that she might not want to see, smell, feel, touch-

_We’re sharing a bed with Bog!_

"Ugh… I’m not, I mean-" His face screwed up and she could see out of the corner of his eye as he tried to hide his claws, his dexterous toes, his face. "I could always find somewhere else.

She skillfully ignored the voice, leaning forward to press her lips against the corner of his. She felt him stall. “You’re staying here,” she muttered, breaking away just enough for him to feel the words form on his skin. “You and I are going to learn to deal with your long legs.”

"But… um…" he wiggled his fingers. "I don’t think… I could hurt you. More than, you know."

So she said what she had to. “I trust you.” It was light, airy, with almost no really bursting emotion, but the look he gave her near broke her resolve. “Besides, I’m more worried about you kicking me out of bed. Your feet could wrestle a man though, so I wouldn’t doubt it.” He made a move to no doubt point out that _that_ had not been what he’d had issue with and stop trying to avoid the subject of what he was, so she quickly interjected before he could.

**_Oh no, buddy. Not tonight. You’re not going all broody on me tonight._ **

"I steal the covers," she said. Whatever he was going to say died in place of a curious glance.

"What?"

"Me. I steal covers. And sometimes I kick. A lot." She twisted her lip. "And sometimes I snore. I’m a real monster to sleep with, that’s all I’m saying."

_Tell him that sometimes you grab people’s butts. But it’s a medical condition! TELL HIM ITS A MEDICAL CONDITION!_

Bog’s lip followed hers up and his eyes shone with what only could be gratitude. And Marianne knew she’d said the right thing. _I’m a real monster to sleep with_.

Monster: An adjective to describe mood, sleeping patterns and whatever the hell sounds she produced when she was flinging herself into battle. Not people. Adjective. Verb. Not noun. 

"I think I can handle you, Tough Girl," he purred. "But I must warn you that I grab. You might find yourself… stuck."

_TELL HIM YOU NEED HONEY RIGHT NOW!_

Marianne shrugged. “That’s fine. S’long as you watch the stitches.”

  _Don’t you dare ignore me, Princess Marianne! This is our chance! Take it! For every sweet God above take it!_

He nodded, claws moving out to lightly touch her waist. The skin there seared, but for different reasons. One she was going to pretend not to know. 

_Go for it! Make out! Make. Out!_

"I think I can do that," he muttered, grabbing her again.

_Why are you not listening to me! Do as I say or suffer my wrath!_

But Marianne would continue to ignore it. Because even if she wanted so much more, this was just fine. At least for now. Three weeks was too long, and she fell into his embrace trying to remember every second until she was forced away again.

_I’VE BEEN INSUUUUULTED! DISRESPEEEECTED!  
_

* * *

Marianne woke again when Bog shifted, moving them both with a few gentle clicks of his claws. There had been a moment of confusion- she hadn’t recognized anything. The air was void of the sometimes dizzying smell of flowers or the light coming through her window. Instead it was dark and the air was thick with moss and wood and something not unlike mold but fresher, renewing. When a heavy breath heaved by her hairline, her bangs folding over, she quickly remembered. She twisted, feeling stitches strain, and nuzzled her face into the plates of his chest.

He was warmer than she would have thought. That always surprised her, and she wasn’t sure if that fact should have worried her. Always assuming he’d be cold and hard and sharp. And he was, sometimes. But it was hard to explain to her father - _and she never would explain it_ \- how incredible the roughness felt catching against her own. How she nearly had to remember how to breathe when his claws pressed her sides, the tiny thorns on his face when they brushed against her brow, her ear, her lips. How his skin was just as warm as hers, hidden away in a shell that didn’t need to be cracked open just to find beauty.

From above her, Bog breathed in deeply, heart stuttering a moment, and he held her closer. She snickered, sure that it was just as strange for him to deal with a different sleeping arrangement and wondered briefly if he at all minded. It didn’t seem like it so far. Not from the way he was smelling her, breathing her in as if preserving a memory for later when she wasn’t there.

She settled away a small spark of disappointment at the calm. Part of her was frustrated. She had gotten what she’d wanted. She’d gotten the touches, the closeness, the _everything_ but something in her was so insatiable…

She blew out a breath, reasoning with it.

No, maybe this wasn’t passionate. And maybe it wasn’t as wild and carefree as she wished it to be. But it was still so _them_. Fitting together, different, but perfectly equal. And there was so much love in every bit of it. She was going to want more with him until she got it. That much was clear. But until then the quiet and the calm and the protection and the care were all enough. She would take what she could get and she’d move at the pace he needed. The pace they both needed. 

When the time came she’d tell him what she wanted. For now this was okay. And if this was okay, then okay was pretty darn great.

 _You should send that geriatric drunk guy a gift basket._ Despite all obvious hints the voice was back within the hour.

"For what," Marianne murmured into the Dark, watching Bog twitch in his sleep at the interruption of her voice. "For stabbing me?"

 _Although I do love that you’ve finally learned to accept it for what it is_ -Marianne rolled her eyes with a huff- _that really isn’t what I’m talking about._

"Then what are you talking about. Please. Humor me."

 _Think about it! If he hadn’t jumped on your from behind like a ninty year old pole dancer and accidentally impaled you with a piece of dirty beer glass you wouldn’t have gotten to snuggle with Bog right now! Hell, you heard what he said! He could get used to this!_ Her Tiny voice sighed, and Marianne felt it lean back, arms crossed behind its head. _Welcome to the good life, kid._

"Well…" she worried her lip. "I mean… I guess that’s true."

_You guess? If he hadn’t done that you’d be dancing around romance for who knows how long!_

"We would have gotten to it eventually!" Bog murmured something inaudible, dragging her closer with a possessiveness that never ventured far from the protective. She wiggled closer, hissing briefly, but settling into a place that she could work with. Her head bumped his chest and she let her eyes slide closed, the slow and easy rise and fall of every breath lulling her into a place almost sacred.

 _No, you wouldn’t have_. Even the Tiny Voice in her Head seemed to be slurring now, and she smiled.

"You don’t know."

_You’re right. I don’t. But I still think it helped. You know, in an odd sort of way that Geriatric Drunk Man was like your fairy godmother. You’re drunk, stabby, cursing, foul minded fairy godmother._

"You’re insane."

The Tiny Voice in her Head, quite miffed at being called insane for quite possibly the deepest idea it had ever had, conjured up a picture of said Geriatric man in an ill fitting pink tubedress with a wand. Marianne’s eyes shot open. “Oh my god,” she hissed. “Get that out of my brain you sick creation of nature!”

The Geriatric Fairy Godmother grumbled something in the voice of someone displeased to be part of a fantasy before doing his best to wiggle out of the dress making certain parts stand out more than they should have.

"Ew, ew, ew, ew!"

 _This hurts me as much as it hurts you,_ Tiny Voice in her Head insisted, swooning. 

"Stop it right now!"

_Say I’m right!_

"Fine! You’re right! Now stop it!" The Geriatric Fairy Godmother popped out his teeth before blowing her a gummy kiss and disappearing into a dusty poof. "Well… that’s never going to go away. Thanks for burning that into my brain."

_No problem, asshole. Now go, enjoy your night. And can you at least just brush his ass for me? Please? Do a pal of favor._

"Go away."

_It’s not like I’m asking you to grab his oh so in the open cro-_

“ _Now_.” The Tiny Voice sighed but did back away and all was silent again. Marianne pressed against Bog, glad for the darkness heightening every other sense as one of his legs curled around hers, covering as much of her body with his own. “Jeez, Bog,” she whispered into the dark. “You’re a regular nettle, aren’t you.” He mumbled something again and she looked up, traced the lines of his brow, felt his rough skin twitch under her fingers. His eyes fluttered, blue enough to cut through the dark, and she smiled apologetically. “Sorry…” she whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

He blinked at her again, confused and disoriented. Seeming to realize halfway through waking up and falling back into the unconscious just how tied up in his limbs she was and began to unfurl. “Sorry,” he parroted, and Gods wasn’t his voice just the best thing she’d heard, rumbling with sleep, playing a xylophone of pleasure down her spine. “Did I-“

"You’re fine," Marianne assured him, and he let her pull him back with a sleepy grin that near knocked her out for the count.

She snuggled back, heard him yawn. His claws gentle moved up and down her shoulders and she pressed into them. “What-” he yawned again, “what r’ya thinking about…”

"You don’t know I’m thinking about anything." He hummed in a way that said, _yes I do you terrible liar_ and she chuckled. “Just thinking about how it’s so funny that it took us this long to do this.” He tugged her closer, careful of the bandages near the sharp edges of his abdomen, and said something in agreement. “How crazy is it that the most romantic person in this entire situation was the old fairy that stabbed me.” She shrugged and decided then and there that maybe there was some disgusting, horrible, unthinkable truth to it. “I mean, he’s kinda like a weird, perverted, drunk Plum Fairy.”

There was a moment of silence followed by a very confused, “What?”

"Nothing. Go to sleep."

"But-"

"Injured. Need sleep."

"Hmm…"

She paused a moment, stared at currently not melting ceiling. “Hey Bog, how do you feel about honey? Neutral, or are you all for it?”

"What?!"

"Nothing. Goodnight."

She would eventually fall asleep in his arms, listening to a Tiny Voice in her Head chuckle.

'Did he say no?' Honey Covered Bog stepped off his platter, searching around the confines of Marianne's sleeping mind.

_I didn’t hear a no._

'So I'm here to stay?'

 _I’m not giving you the pink slip yet, big boy._ Honey Covered Bog smiled a smile that could have been easily labeled as scandalous. 

'I'll get the sequins.'

_I’ll get the leather._

'Let's do this.'

* * *

##  **_Epilogue_ **

**_Exactly 2 weeks, four days, 7 hours, 5 minutes and 37 seconds later_ **

"Bog, would you care to tell me how this happened again." Marianne had finally been let out of her house. Let out may have been a very loose term, however. Her father’s reaction to finding his daughter gone for four days with very little explanation had been terrible. When he found out the reason had been a well concealed stab wound it had been explosive.

Her sister had been no better. Dawn was hovering now. Tracking her every mood, waiting for the next bad thing to strike and call her out on it.

She’d had to get out eventually. And she had done it, leaving to the Dark Forest with a quick goodbye and a promise to be back eventually. Bog had not been there, which was odd.

When he’d come hobbling into the throne room after her, that had been even stranger. She’d had him sit, and had Stuff and Thang get her something to cool it, trying to bring down the odd stick shaped bruise quickly rising. “I didn’t even know you could bruise like this. I thought the whole exoskeleton thing would prevent it.”

"Neither did I,"he growled. "But look at that- we’re both learning something new."

"So, how did this happen? You still haven’t told me."

His snarl was telling and Marianne glanced up at him with an amused leer. “Well?”

"You remember when you were stabbed?" he groused, teeth grinding.

"Yeah. I remember."

"And remember the old man who did it to you?"

"Yeah," she said again. "He’s still alive last time I checked."

"Well, he’s also in my dungeon."

“ _What! Bog!_ ”

"I was avenging you!"

"I don’t need to be avenged!" She stood, hands on her hips. "That’s ridiculous! He’s a pervert, yeah. And sure, he’s a drunk. But he’s ninety-seven! What’s he going to do!"

"Apparently," Bog grumbled, "quite a bit." He rolled his leg, glaring down at the new found bruise. "I was just going to give him a scare. That’s all. Show him why he shouldn’t have ruined your good name."

"He didn’t ruin my good name, Bog! He’s drunk and ninety-seven! I can’t believe you scared him!"

"Well, that’s the thing. I didn’t." His attention went back to her, but the glare didn’t go anywhere. "I was going to. But then he assaulted me."

She stalled. Her arms dropped and so did her scowl. “I’m sorry… he _assaulted_ you.” Bog’s face fell more, and her terrible attempt at hiding laughter.

"With his cane."

A tiny snort leaked out of her mouth and she controlled it, reeling it back with a too-stiff lip. “The Bog King of the Dark Forest was just taken down by a Geriatric drunk with a cane.” There was a flush of effort blooming on her neck, and he could see the laughter shivering at her chest.

“ _It was not like that_ ,” he snarled. “ _That man is a villain._ ”

"Really? A villain."

“ _Yes._ And I’ll have you know that I did not get _taken down_.” He crossed his arms. “My fall was _dignified_.”

The laughter fell forward after that, Marianne doubling over and wiping at her eyes with the heels of her hands. “Oh my- oh this is just too _good_!”

"You don’t understand!" he defended desperately. "He’s a military genius, I swear!"

"Uh huh! Did he try to jump you."

"Three times!" He sunk down into his throne. "And they he called me a useless whippersnapper and told me to get off his lawn. What does that even mean! He’s in _my_ dungeon! _Mine_! And he practically owns it!” He threw his hands in the air, the telltale sounds of his teeth grinding already hitting the air. “He’s scared half my guards. None of them will go near him.”

"Well, one of you is going to have to get him out eventually."

"He doesn’t have to leave. He’s going to die soon anyway."

"Bog!"

"He is!"

"I doubt that. If he can do half the stuff he does, the man is going to last longer than you and I." She pressed the cool cloth to his knee again. "And look at that. Because of him you and I are going to have to spend the night together again." he perked up at that and she feigned a heavy sigh. "What a shame. But you need to be taken care of."

"I certainly do, Princess."

And for a moment, staring at each other in the dim light of the throne room, Marianne wondered briefly if this was finally the night their lips would lock in endless passion.

"Sire! The scary man in the dungeon just took down Brutus!" Bog’s head dropped into his palm. 

"Ignore it," he begged no one in particular. "Just ignore it."

"And he’s been yelling something about how he’s had more rolls around in the swamp grass than all of us combined!"

"You sure you want to ignore this now," she pressed her lips to his cheek, doing her best to calm him. "You might as well just let him go. He’s going to cause you more trouble than it’s worth."

"There’s no way he can get worse."

“ _Sire! He just threw his teeth at Milkwarts head!_ ”

"You sure about that?" She stifled a giggle against skin. "Because from the sound of it-"

“ _Sire! He got out! He’s loose! Every Goblin for themselves! The end is near! RUN WHILE YOU STILL CAN!_ ”

The castle promptly shook at the Bog King’s roar of anger, mixed with the unwavering laughter of a very amused fairy.

 

 


End file.
